Fall seven times, stand up eight
by gentlewinnix
Summary: Loudermilk. Sam Loudermilk's journey to sobriety isn't that exciting of a tale, but there are some moments of interest. Gen.


**Author's Note: **Haha, I'm excited to write the first fanfic for this show. Not sure where this'll go, to be honest, but I'm just having fun writing about this adorable grump.

Tags include: Pre-Canon, Alcohol Withdrawal.

* * *

"Smell you later, sucker!"

"What the fuck?" Sam opens his eyes, turning to see Ben running to his car. "Hey! Asshole!" He sprints after Ben as the car starts, skidding off, and manages to grab the bumper for a moment before losing his grip.

"Fuck you!" Sam shouts, chasing after Ben until he can't keep up, the car disappearing into the forest ahead of him. Sam slows to a stop, struggling to catch his breath. He wishes now he'd picked anyone else to be his sponsor. Frustrated, he kicks at the dirt. How is he gonna get home now? He wants a drink. Fuck getting sober.

Sam starts to walk, following the trail out of the forest and back onto the highway. He manages to flag down a driver willing to stop just on the outskirts of Seattle, and the guy agrees to drop him off a few blocks from Ben's apartment. Sam settles into the passenger seat with a weary sigh, gazing out the window as they drive.

Once they're in the city Sam starts to feel a little off. There's a tremor in his hands and he feels hot and a little nauseated. Anxiety curdles his stomach and he worries he isn't safe in this car. Sam realizes he hasn't had a drink in almost eight hours now and mentally curses Ben. Sure, he'd wanted to straighten up, but he wasn't prepared to quit cold turkey just yet.

Still, he manages to hold off. He doesn't harass the driver, both too miserable to do so and knowing he'll only get kicked out. It feels like an eternity later that the car rolls to a stop and he manages a quiet "Thanks," to the driver.

By the time he steps into Ben's apartment the anger from before is faded, and he instead runs to the toilet, where he's violently sick. He pukes until there's nothing left to come up, and then he dry-heaves a couple times, collapsing against the toilet seat with a groan.

"Shit, Sam, that's disgusting," Ben says from behind him, and Sam can only manage an exhausted wheeze in response, his eyes falling shut. He hears the toilet flush and then feels Ben's hands under his armpits, lifting him up and moving him to lean back against the bathtub.

"Here, let's get you cleaned up," Ben says. "It's 3am, we'll take you to rehab in the morning."

"Drink," Sam mumbles, "Please?"

"Nope," says Ben. "Shower and some sleep, buddy. You wanted to get sober, so we're getting you sober." Sam feels him working his clothes off, stripping him down to his boxers, and he shivers as the cold air hits his skin. "You're burning up, man," Ben comments.

"Cold," Sam says, petulant.

"Always arguing with everyone, you are," says Ben, and Sam hears the faucet running behind him, Ben apparently having realized Sam is in no shape to stand up for a shower. "Okay, Sam, up you go," Ben says, and then scoops him up off the ground. Sam grabs at his shirt blindly, disoriented, but soon enough he's being lowered into the bath, the water cool on his skin. He pries his eyes open, looking up at Ben blearily.

"You look like shit," Ben chuckles.

"Course I do," Sam rasps, "Jus' puked my guts out." He shivers, wrapping his arms around himself, and Ben's hands are in his hair, scrubbing in shampoo. Normally he'd be embarrassed to let Ben (or anyone else, for that matter) do this, to see him so vulnerable, but at the moment he's too sick to care. He wants a drink and he misses Memphis, it's been a year since the accident and the divorce and he really had wanted to quit and get better after group, but right now he just wants to wallow in his misery some more.

Ben finishes cleaning him up and drains the tub, then throws a towel around him and picks him up again, carrying him to the bedroom. Ben lives in a two-bedroom apartment but he hasn't gotten a roommate yet, and he doesn't have an extra bed in there, so it's his bed that he lies Sam down in.

"I can stay on the couch," Sam mumbles. "'S your bed."

"Nah, you need the rest," says Ben, throwing Sam a t-shirt, sweatpants, and clean pair of briefs. "Clothes you left over before," he says, "I washed 'em for you."

"Thanks," says Sam, and he cracks his eyes open to smile at Ben.

"Don't mention it," Ben says. "I'm your sponsor, it's my job, isn't it?" He pats Sam's hip. "You get dressed and get some sleep, and I'll take you to rehab tomorrow. Good night."

"G'night," Sam replies, and watches Ben step out, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Sam wakes up as the sun's just starting to peek through the curtains. His stomach hurts fiercely and his mouth is dry, his throat sore with it. He feels hot and sick and he stumbles to the bathroom to piss, brush his teeth, and wash his face, then stares at his reflection in the mirror for a moment.

"Shit," Sam mumbles. He looks older than he remembers, worn down and exhausted.

He goes out to the living room, finding Ben still asleep on the couch, and curls up in the armchair beside it. Sam grabs a blanket and settles it over himself, rubbing his stomach absently. He dozes off after a while, not entirely asleep or awake. He hears Ben get up after some time has passed, hears the commotion as he makes coffee and some form of breakfast, and eventually Sam peels his eyes open and watches Ben.

"Good morning," Ben says upon meeting Sam's gaze. "Thought I'd make breakfast before we check you in."

"I'll probably just puke it up," Sam grumbles. "My stomach hurts."

"Take this, at least," Ben says, offering Sam a glass of orange juice and some ibuprofen.

"Thanks," says Sam, and swallows the pills down. He sips at the juice slowly, watching Ben mill about in the kitchen. His head feels fuzzy and heavy, but he's awake now and not about to fall asleep like this. He lies back against the chair and closes his eyes, listening as Ben finishes cooking and sits down on the couch, tucking in to his meal.

"You sleep alright?" he asks between bites, and Sam chuckles humorlessly.

"Not really," Sam says.

"Coming down is hard," says Ben. "But you'll make it through. I survived it, didn't I?"

And that's what Sam keeps in mind through the rest of his stay in rehab - if Ben could get sober and stay sober, so can he.


End file.
